


I never dreamed (that I'd love somebody like you)

by sarcastic_fina



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-30
Updated: 2013-12-30
Packaged: 2018-01-06 18:09:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1109971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcastic_fina/pseuds/sarcastic_fina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I've spent two years in this fight and for a lot of that I've been half in love with you… I know it's dangerous and I know I'm not always the easiest person to be with. But I don't want to be one foot in, one foot out anymore. I want to be all in, if you'll have me."</p>
            </blockquote>





	I never dreamed (that I'd love somebody like you)

**Author's Note:**

> **outfit** : [link](http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=108626889) (mostly because her shoes are adorable)  
>  **inspiration** : [gif](http://i1122.photobucket.com/albums/l522/fina_gifs/tumblr_mlog6feicu1qkzl7oo1_500_zps828b70a7.gif) ([source](http://sexual-passion.tumblr.com/post/48773646139))

It started with wine.

They were working in the foundry, John had already gone home to Lyla, and Felicity was rubbing at a kink in her neck that refused to give her any kind of relief. One of the many bad guys they were tracking was giving her considerable trouble, which meant she spent an inordinate amount of time in front of her computers. Considering this was her skill, this was what she brought to the team (because it certainly wasn't brute strength), she always felt especially annoyed with herself when she couldn't deliver. So if she wasn't catching whatever sleep she could or working as Oliver's assistant, this was where she was putting in the extra hours to squeak out any kind of information she could.

And she was sick of it. Her eyes burned in that way they always did when she didn't disengage from computers long enough to see the world was still spinning outside of them. Not that she would ever put her beloved babies down, but before Oliver, after-hours from QC were spent doing fun things, having a social life, and putting the virtual world on the back-burner for a while. Not that she didn't appreciate what all of their hard work did, because she did. She just missed what it felt like to have a life outside of it. She missed spending time with people that didn't involve chasing down bad guys. She missed wine and flirting and sex. Because she'd had very little of all three of those, even if she currently only had eyes for one guy, and he was very firmly in the out-of-reach category, if only because his martyrdom put him there. He was also very firm in general, but that was something to think about for another time.

Her issue at the moment was the kink in her neck. It was nearly ten and she still had a few more things she wanted to try before she went home, ordered take-out, and passed out with chow-mein spilling in her lap like last week. Not a fun way to wake up, actually, especially since she was still on the couch and plum sauce would now forever stain her favorite pajamas. Of course, stain or no stain, she wouldn't be getting rid of them. They were her comfort PJ's and she'd be damned if she could find anything nearly as good to snuggle up on the couch in with a season of Doctor Who or Game of Thrones.

Dropping her chin forward, she groaned, squeezing her fingers down her neck and wondering if she had time to set up an appointment with a chiropractor for tomorrow. Or a masseuse. Really, anyone with hands that was willing to make this ache go away.

As if her prayers were being answered, she felt two large hands displace hers, callused fingers dragging up and down her neck in a way that absolutely made her shiver. He rubbed down either side of her neck and into the crooks where it met her shoulders. She bit her lip so she didn't moan, half-scared he would hear her and stop.

"It's getting late," he said.

"Mm-hmm." She opened her eyes to stare sightlessly at her keyboard. "You can go home. I'll lock up."

His thumbs swiped down her back and she squeezed her eyes shut at the sensation. "You haven't eaten."

"Well, sadly, someone vetoed delivery to the Arrow cave."

"You've been working overtime all week, Felicity," he sighed.

"Which was completely my choice!" She could already hear the self-recrimination coming on and she was having  _none_ of it. Seriously, she loved how much he cared, but he didn't have to take everything onto himself.

"It's a little hard when so much of it is my fault."

 _Oh_. She said that out loud. One day she would have a filter. Unfortunately, that day was not today.

Sighing, she lifted her head, her chin balanced on her stacked hands. "We've all done things, Oliver. Things we regret, things we wish we could take back, things that occasionally influence others, things we can't get off our records no matter how many times I told my kindergarten teacher that girl pushed me first... Where was I going with that? Right! We all have those things, but you are not directly at fault for everything everyone does." She turned her head, looking up at him. "Point in fact, I joined the team of my own volition, stayed on it because I wanted to, and now work  _over_ overtime because I believe in our cause and I have the ability to do so." She pushed her chair back and he stepped out of the way, his hands dropping from her shoulders. Turning to face him, her brows hiked. "Right?"

He let out a long breath, but nodded shortly.

"Right," she agreed, smiling. Waving a hand at the stairs, she told him, "So go home. I'm sure your mom will be shocked to see you making it in so early."

Before she could turn her chair back around, however, he caught the arm of it and held it still, learning down so they were nearly level, only he was a few inches higher, so she had to tip her head to catch his eyes. If her gaze lingered on his lips for a moment, no one could blame her.

"I'm taking you to dinner."

She blinked. "Sorry?"

"You haven't eaten, it's late, and you'll probably spend most of your night working on this… So let me take you to dinner."

"See, that second try sounded a little more like a question, which is a lot better than the order you made right before it," she told him, crossing her arms over her chest.

His lips quirked. "Felicity, will you please join me for dinner?"

"Why, yes, Oliver, I would love to," she told him pleasantly.

With a faint chuckle, he walked away, only to pull on his jacket and return with hers, holding it up for her to slip her arms in through the sleeves. He smoothed it over her shoulders while she buttoned the front and she bit her lip before her traitorous tongue could comment on how domestic it felt. Or how big his hands were, swamping her shoulders like she was much tinier than she was. Not to say she was large; she was pretty sure she was just average. Just as she'd always been in anything but academics. Average Felicity Smoak. Occasionally cute or quirky or even pretty, but in a world full of Laurel's, Sara's, and Isabel's, Felicity was, in fact,  _average_.

She clenched her teeth and shook her head, ridding her head of that self-esteem killing thought. She really had to stop doing that. Comparing herself to the women Oliver had chosen to be with, even if it was only for a night. Regardless of whether or not he wanted to be with her romantically, what they did together was still significant. It wasn't wine and flirting and sex, but it saved the city, and that was definitely more important than her heart or her comfort or her libido… right?

Oh god, she really needed to start dating again. Even just casual dating. Get her fix, hot, thigh shaking, hickies for days,  _sex_. She didn't even care if she remembered his name after. In fact, it would be points for him if she was so exhausted she didn't. Then she'd definitely get the suggested eight hours of sleep, instead of waking up too early in the morning and checking her tablet to see if the programs she had running in the foundry had come up with anything.

"Felicity?"

She turned her head abruptly to see Oliver standing there, waiting, not nearly as patiently as he could be. He had his arm out, hand stretched to beckon her. Her fingers twitched as if to reach for his, but she kept them resolutely at her side and walked forward.

"So are we thinking Belly Burger? Because I have a few things running that I'll need to check on in a bit…"

His hand found the small of her back as he directed her up the stairs ahead of him. "It can wait."

"If it waits, then I end up spending more time here than I usually do, so, trust me, I'd rather be back in time to get the results and put something else in action if it didn't find what I wanted. Then I can get home and unwind for a bit."

He sighed.

He seemed to do that a lot lately.

"Felicity, I'm sure it can keep until morning."

"Sure, it  _can_ … I just don't  _want_ it to…"

They started across the empty club to the back doors leading into the parking lot. She was glad it was one of the rare nights he didn't have the upstairs in full swing. She wasn't sure she could've taken a headache on top of everything else. Not to mention how completely unfair it was to watch other people let loose when she felt wound up tighter than a coil. And that wasn't even just sexually. She was constantly on edge in general. After things went down with Count Vertigo and then Oliver had his blow-out with Deathstroke, it was hard not to feel like they were just waiting for the next villain to come careening around the corner and start a war. Although the sex thing was true too.

Oliver handed her a helmet and she realized, abruptly, that they were taking his motorcycle.

"My car's just over there…" she offered, motioning with her thumb.

He raised an eyebrow, hand still out, and, though she frowned, she took the helmet and stuck it on before climbing on the bike behind him, thankful she'd worn jeans that day instead of her usual skirt. In fact, because it was so warm lately, she almost felt a little too hot in her jeans, tank top, and jacket, thin as it was. Starling City was going through a heat wave that only seemed to die down to a bearable degree at night. Tonight, however, it seemed the air was still too stifling, and having a helmet on wasn't helping things.

Settling behind him, she put her arms around his waist hesitantly, feeling every bit the awkward person she was with her legs cradled around him and her hands stacked one on top of the other on his stomach. A stomach that was packed hard with muscle and very rudely taunting her. His hand slid over hers, fingers rubbing between her knuckles.

"Hold on tight," he told her, and she heard a chuckle in his voice, a memory of an elevator shaft running through her mind.

She shifted forward so her front was pressed flat to his back and his chuckle broke off abruptly. She wrapped her arms around him tighter, fingers dug in, and waited.

The engine revved to life with a hum, a buzzing sensation running through the seat, and  _wow_ , she was suddenly incredibly aware of Oliver, his body, and how they were pressed together, especially with that vibration going on underneath her. That was not helping things.

Before she could embarrass herself, which she was sure she would have done, it was just in her nature, the bike started moving and they were soon on their way into the heart of the city. They bypassed Big Belly Burger, much to her surprise, and just kept going. It was too loud to ask him where they might be headed to, so instead she just turned her head to watch the city rush by in a blur of lights. Oliver weaved in and out of traffic like a pro; she wondered what it meant that she never feared for her safety, especially considering how fast they were going. Then again, she admitted to herself a long time ago that she trusted Oliver. He might not think he always made the right choices, and true, he still occasionally reacted without thinking of the consequences, but he would never willingly put her life in danger. A part of her had come to associate Oliver with safety, and she couldn't blame it. While others saw Oliver as taking too many risks, she thought it was more than he understood his limitations, and they were simply fewer than the average person.

When they finally came to a stop, her legs felt like jelly from the vibration of the bike. Oliver climbed off first while she leaned back and stretched her legs forward, waiting for them to come back to life. He held a hand out for her to take and, while she was pretty sure her knees were going to give out on her, she let him help her up. Admittedly, once she got her feet under her, the jelly-feeling wasn't as bad as she'd thought. Her thighs still felt like she'd been riding something other than a bike, shaky in that almost good way, only she didn't get the pay-off she wanted.

"You okay?"

"Huh?" She looked up at him abruptly, feeling flushed and fully ready to blame it on how warm it was. "Yeah. Fine. Just… Is 'motorcycle legs' a thing?" She rocked her hips side to side and stamped her foot to get the staticky feeling in her legs to go away.

He half-smiled, a hand settling low on her waist as he directed her toward the front doors of a restaurant.

Felicity slowed down as she noticed the name. "Oliver, this place is way out of my comfort level," she whisper-shouted, her eyes-wide.

His brow furrowed. "We have lunch together at places like this all the time," he reminded.

Sure, when she was dressed professionally, as his executive assistant, and could make it look like she actually fit in. "I'm wearing jeans right now," she reminded. "And my hair is in a lazy-bun, as in, 'I'm tired and I don't plan on anybody seeing me, so I'm going to throw my annoying hair up so it'll stop falling in my face.'" She pointed at the low tangle of hair she'd wrapped in an elastic before she'd started rubbing the knots out of her neck. "This is not at all appropriate for high-class dining."

Exasperated, he shook his head. "They're not going to say anything."

"No, but they'll do that look… That snide, 'you don't belong here, commoner,' look of theirs."

His lips twitched. "Even if they had one of those, they aren't going to use it on you. Trust me."

"You know, if Digg was here he would comment that you're saying that because you're a rich white man…"

" _Felicity_ …" He tipped his head down to stare at her with far too much intensity considering she had said lazy-bun happening. "You're hungry, and I'm hungry, and I'd really like to buy an expensive bottle of wine and spend my night with you. So can we please go inside?"

She swallowed thickly. "It's not that I  _don't_ want to spend my night with you." Her eye twitched. " _You said it first_." She frowned. "I'm just saying, I don't exactly feel dressed up enough for a place that has a salad fork."

"If it helps, it's got air conditioning, and the low-lighting will probably hide most of what you think isn't working for you."

She shifted on her feet. She really was hungry, and he was stubborn, and fine, okay, she was doing this. She was not going to care what a bunch of hoity-toity people thought of her anyway. Even if it was totally misogynistic that they wouldn't look down on her purely because she was there with Oliver, she wanted food, and that wine he promised sounded really, really good right about now.

With a deep breath, she marched forward, pulling open the door to walk inside, her head held high.

Oliver followed her in and, after dropping by the coat check to relieve themselves of their jackets and helmets, he offered his public smile for the maître d'. "Table for two," he said, his hand settling on her back once more.

"Of course, Mr. Queen," he answered, gathering two menus and immediately walking them into the restaurant to show them to their table.

It wasn't overly packed, which she was grateful for. She wondered what they would have done if they were though. People didn't turn away Oliver Queen. Did that mean someone would have to leave? That'd be terrible. She hoped that never happened.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his mouth close enough to her ear that she felt his breath skitter over it.

She looked up at him. "Nothing. I'm just… tired, I think. I started wondering what they would've done if there weren't any tables. Would they set one up or kick people out, or what?"

His mouth curled up at the corners. "I have no idea. There's always been a table available. They usually put a VIP table on hold for situations like these."

She blinked. "That makes sense. Of course, there could be more than one billionaire CEO who wants to drop by for dinner one night. What then?"

He chuckled as he held her chair out for her. "I've honestly never thought of it before."

She looked up at him, brows hiked. "Rich white man," she reminded.

He licked his lips as he took the seat across from her. "I'm getting called that a lot tonight considering Digg isn't here."

"I've filled in as your required reality check."

He stared at her a moment. "You're a lot more attractive than my last one."

Her mouth went dry before she managed to tell him, "I don't know about that. John's a handsome man."

"Can't say he's my type." Oliver shrugged. "I've always been partial to blondes."

A waiter appeared suddenly to pour them a glass of ice water and she was never so thankful. Her skin felt far too warm, and she didn't think it was just the heat wave anymore. She finished off half the glass, her brow furrowed and her eyes turned off, away from Oliver, who she was pretty sure was smirking.

Turning her attention down to the menu, she noticed there were no prices listed. Common in places like this, where the people buying never needed to know the cost of their food. Of course, Oliver always footed the bill, even when she offered, so it didn't bother her nearly as much as it used to. She didn't love that he always felt it was his responsibility to pay, but she supposed, after a while, she just got used to it. She did manage to steal the bill from him a few times from Big Belly Burger, but she was pretty sure he let her to make her feel better.

Her eyes scanned through the choices, searching out anything that appealed to her. She hadn't eaten anything since lunch and now that she thought about it, she was starving.

While she was still perusing, Oliver ordered them a bottle of wine, one that actually made her eyes widen. She didn't need the wine list to know that was worth a pretty penny.

"Oliver, that's too much."

The waiter left to retrieve the bottle and their wine glasses while Oliver simply shook his head. "Consider it a thank you for all your hard work."

"Much as I appreciate it, you don't need to pay in expensive wine."

"So the wine is a gift, and I can show my appreciation a different way," he decided, meeting her eyes across the table.

There was a low hum of anticipation she was sure she was reading wrong. A promise in his eyes that made her stomach tighten up and a flood of heat to simmer low inside her. The intensity with which he stared at her should be something she was used to, but, if she were honest, there was no way anybody could get used to that. Especially when it seemed to go up a few notches every time it happened. At least on her part, from the moment they'd met, there'd been something there, something that lingered and sparked in her blood. And as the weeks and months, and now years, went on, it only went deeper, became stronger. But it went unspoken, unacted upon, and he'd made it clear, a year ago, that his life was not equipped for long-term relationships, least of all with people he knew he could really care about.

Now, not that she wasn't opposed to just sex, because she wasn't, but what she felt for Oliver made that impossible. She couldn't go through all that they had together, spend so much time learning him and picking him up when the pieces fell, and not feel something deeper than just a sexual attraction. That was certainly there, if her many fantasies involving the salmon ladder and him bending her over one of the many desks they were always around were anything to go by. But then there were her other fantasies, of holding his hand and feeling him press a kiss to her hair or holding him after a long day of work and vigilante business. Those sweet, loving fantasies of having a life with him, building a relationship, told her that just scratching the itch would never be enough.

On the bright side, if he kept up this attitude, she'd at least get wine and flirtation. Two out of three wasn't bad. She was sure he'd return to his old, broody self tomorrow and pretend the night hadn't happened, but she would deal with that later. For tonight, for now, she would just enjoy herself.

The waiter returned with the wine and poured them each a glass before asking for their orders. Felicity put in hers before taking a nice, long sip of her wine, letting it linger on her tongue, her every taste bud coming to life, before she swallowed. Her eyes fell to half-mast as she hummed appreciatively.

Oliver cleared his throat. "Good?"

She raised her eyes to meet his. "Honestly." She sat back in her chair and took another sip, smaller this time, wanting it to last, despite the fact that they had a whole bottle to themselves. "It's better than sex."

He didn't say anything at first, simply watching her, and then his gaze fell to her lips as her tongue swept over them. "You're having sex with the wrong people."

Leaning forward, she reached across the table and slid his glass toward him. "Or you're drinking the wrong wine."

He let out a low chuckle that made something inside her shake.

He picked up the wine glass and took a sip, letting it rest on his tongue for a few seconds before she saw his throat work as he swallowed. There was something extremely attractive about watching that in the low light of the candles around them. They made shadows play over his features, in the hollows of his cheeks, that feral look his face sometimes took on somehow incredibly attractive right then. She could see how some would be intimidated by him. She'd witnessed, first hand, what an angry Oliver could do. She'd seen the rage and fear and terror cloud those handsome features until he was broken. But she'd also seem him smile, seen him laugh, watched his face light up as he saw his sister. Oliver was a dichotomy of anger and happiness, love and hate, and he did both with so much passion that he exuded it in every single thing he did.

"Maybe I need the right person to share the wine with," he finally said, his head tipped as he stared at her, a faint smile curving his lips.

"Sounds like a tall order…" she murmured, dropping her gaze to the tabletop.

"She's a unique individual."

She raised her eyes to meet his. "And what makes now any different than before?" Her eyes narrowed wonderingly as she shook her head. "Nothing's changed."

"Maybe that's the point," he mused. "Things won't change. They'll always be like this. There will always be danger, somebody else waiting around the next corner. And we can prepare for that, we can plan for it as much as possible, but there's no guarantee we'll always come out the victor. What I do know is that if I spent my whole life doing this and I never took a chance on actually being happy with someone, I would regret it… And I could be happy with you, Felicity. You already make me happy."

Felicity could feel her heart fluttering in her chest, a flicker of hope slowly building itself up. "Just to be clear, what you're suggesting isn't a… 'what happens in the foundry, stays in the foundry,' thing, right? Because all this talk of sex and wine, and being happy, there's some confusion about exactly which level you want to be on."

"I'm saying I've spent two years in this fight and for a lot of that I've been half in love with you… I know it's dangerous and I know I'm not always the easiest person to be with. But I don't want to be one foot in, one foot out anymore. I want to be all in, if you'll have me."

Her lips parted, but no words escaped her.

Just then, the waiter returned with dinner, and Felicity was both thankful for the interruption, so she had a chance to gather her thoughts, and irritated that they didn't get a chance to continue talking about it.

Oliver changed the subject to Verdant and how far Thea was coming as a manager, how proud he was clear in his voice, and Felicity let herself be swept away with the topic. But each time she reached for her wine, she thought about what he'd said. He wanted the  _right_ person to share wine with, and he thought that was her. Was the wine supposed to be a metaphor for love, his life, or sex? Maybe all of the above. Regardless, he wanted to share it with her, he wanted to  _try_ , and he was willing to do that even if their lives were dangerous enough as it was.

Dinner passed in a blur, and she passed on dessert even though she'd seen a mouth-watering chocolate truffle cheesecake on the menu.

Oliver passed a credit card to the waiter as they finished off the last of their wine and then they were standing from the table. Tension settled over them as they moved. Not the bad kind, where she wasn't sure how she felt, but the good kind, that built up and spread out and made her body want to turn and press into his until she felt every inch of him.

But as much as her under-appreciated hormones agreed that being with Oliver was a great idea, her head and heart were arguing that she needed to be sure. Because yes, a year ago, after Russia and Isabel, she had been hurt by what he'd said. It felt like a heavy door shutting on something that could've been amazing. And now he was saying it still could be.

In that year, however, she'd started to understand his reticence. Time after time, they were met with a new villain to face off against and Oliver's mortality was painted in bright, screaming red, inescapable in its honesty. She began to understand what it would mean to be in a relationship with him. If she was already worried about his well-being, how was she going to cope when they were together? She'd seen Oliver beaten, broken, stabbed, defeated, and lost. And it broke her heart every time. It wouldn't be hard to fall in love with him, she was already teetering on the edge, but loving him only to lose him would kill her.

Could she live her life knowing she walked away from him, though? There were few people in her life who would ever understand her completely. Few who knew the sides of her that she'd shared with him, in and out of the foundry. She'd found herself at his side, not as his executive assistant, she'd gladly hand that title in any day of the week, but as the IT expert that guided him on his missions and dug up the truth on the criminals that littered the city. She'd found her strength and confidence and she'd built herself up enough that she wasn't meek or intimidated by Oliver, not like the people who cowered under his wrath. She stood tall at his side as an equal and that was an important thing to remember. She was his equal, his partner, and she could be his other half.

She found herself standing by the bike, surprised by how it happened, as she'd been so deep in her thoughts she hardly remembered leaving the restaurant at all. But there she was with her head tipped back, letting the cooling breeze run over her face. The weather channel said the heat wave was supposed to break soon and a rain was coming, but she hadn't thought of it until she felt a drop land on her cheek.

Carrying the helmets from the coat check, Oliver handed her hers. "Where to?"

She turned to look at him. One drop had turned into two and six and it was slowly getting heavier. "Home," she told him.

He met her eyes a long moment and then nodded.

After he climbed onto his bike, she got on behind him, her arms sliding around his waist once more, hands splayed over his sides, beneath the open front of his leather jacket. There was a different feeling now, having him between her legs like this and knowing what it could lead to. Fantasy was one thing, but actually putting it into action… that was something else entirely.

Oliver didn't speed as much as he had on the way to the restaurant. The roads were slick now, rain pouring down so hard she felt it soak right through her jacket, her white tank top clinging to her skin. It felt nice though, the cool water on her overwarm body. There was something about seeing the world move at a normal pace as they continued to her apartment, a reminder that if she said yes, if she gave this a try with him, then normal was what they would be, at least on some level. She wasn't sure they'd ever really be completely normal. After all, he dressed up in leather and hunted down criminals most nights, and she helped him. A psychologist would have a field day with them. But their relationship could be normal, or shades of it. She could hardly say most couples had to clean up each other's wounds each night. Normal was relative though. She wasn't sure she'd want to trade it all in anyway. As much as her life could be weird and dangerous and there weren't many out there who could relate, it was hers.

When they reached her apartment, the street was lined with cars. He had to park a ways down, which meant they would further be getting soaked by the rain.

Climbing off his bike, she pushed the helmet up and released her head, taking a deep breath of fresh, rain-scented air. It poured down on her hair and soaked it through. It'd be a frizzy mess when it dried, but at the moment she couldn't find it in herself to care. She stared at Oliver, who'd removed his own helmet and was staring up at her, waiting on her decision.

Silently, she held out a hand, much like he had when he'd offered her help off the bike in front of the restaurant.

His lips turned up at the corners and he took it. He turned off his bike and stood, hugging his helmet to his side under one arm.

They didn't run toward the apartment building. Instead, they calmly walked with the rain beating down on them, soaking through every inch of clothing, dribbling down her collar to trickle down her back. He twirled her, smiling when she laughed, twisting on the toe of her tuxedo flats. As she came to a stop, his arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her into his side. Her head fell to his shoulder, arm slipping around his waist, bunching up the black leather of his jacket as they walked.

Her glasses were spotty with raindrops as they climbed the stairs to her building and she found it impossible to find her keys or put them into the lock. She pushed her glasses up on top of her head as she dug around through her bag, eventually making a fist-pump as she came up triumphant. But after trying and failing to hit the keyhole twice, Oliver took the keys from her and opened the door himself, while she tucked her glasses away in their case, knowing they'd only be a hindrance soon.

He held the door open for her to walk in first and she made her way down to the elevator with him beside her, the lighthearted feeling of before melting back into anticipation.

She'd never been more annoyed that she lived on the fourth floor than she was when they had to ride her ridiculously slow elevator to get there. At least, she was until she was on it. There was something about leaning back against the wall and having him stand in front of her, his hands braced on either side of her, gripping the hand bar. He didn't kiss her, he just stared into her eyes, in that incredibly penetrating way of his, a dark well of promise making her breath a little heavier. His nose grazed hers as he tipped his chin down, his gaze moving to her lips, and she licked them, more out of habit than anything. His pupils dilated and she found herself barely holding back a whimper.

The elevator dinged as it finally reached her floor and his hand settled on her side, tugging her forward until she was pressed to him. He turned them together and walked her backwards down the hall, his free hand coming around to unbutton her jacket, popping one button after the other and parting the fabric. Just before they reached her door, he pressed her coat back by the lapels and stripped it off her shoulders and down her arms until it hung off her fingertips for a moment. Her breath left her in a rush, her chest heaving a little, and she watched his eyes drift down, taking in the way her tank top clung to her.

Still in possession of her keys, he unlocked her apartment door and with a squeeze of her hip, had her stepping inside for him to follow after her. He closed the door and locked it behind him, and she smiled, even now he was still so very aware of how being on alert and keeping them safe.

Unlooping her purse from across her chest, she dropped it on an end table. She walked forward into her mostly dark apartment, shafts of lamp light cutting through the windows, but she was only a few steps in when he pressed to her back, her jacket tossed aimlessly to the floor. His hands were on her hips, squeezing, and she turned to face him, taking the ends of his jacket between her fingers. She looked up at him, staring down at her, and she followed the zipper of his jacket up until she reached the collar. She pushed his jacket back off his shoulders and pulled it down his arms. And then his shirt; she pulled it up his torso, revealing every inch of hard sinew that she'd admired for so long. He tossed his jacket in the same direction as her own and she let his shirt fall from her grip.

She tucked her fingers into the waist of his jeans before she slid them upward, spreading them out, letting the tips of each drag over his skin, moving from one scar to the next, dipping into the contours of his abdomen, tracing the defining lines of his chest. For all that his body was littered with memories of torture and abuse, it was somehow still the most incredibly beautiful thing she had ever seen in her life. And maybe, yes, that was colored by what that body was capable of doing. And she wasn't just talking about how it was definitely going to completely rid her of her current sexual frustration. But all that muscle, all that deadly force packed inside him, and he was using it for good. He channeled those terrible parts of him filled with hate and rage into making the worst of people pay for their sins.

She hadn't realized she was biting her lip until his thumb released it from the confines of her teeth, rubbing back and forth soothingly. She slid her hands up to the tops of his shoulders and massaged across the stretch of muscle there, moving and tightening as his hands found her hips and tugged her forward. He bent his head down, searched her eyes, and then closed those last few inches to slant his mouth over hers. For all that her skin was still chilled from the rain, her lips lit up on fire. His mouth cradled her bottom lip between his, his teeth and tongued teasing it. She let out a happy sigh, her mouth parting for him, and felt his tongue slip inside, stroking the roof of her mouth and flicking the back of her teeth. Their mouths moved together, over and over, her breath coming quicker as she searched out the fit of his lips between hers. His hands slid up her back, fingers digging in, drawing her impossibly closer, her front already pressed flat against him.

He was kissing down her chin and under to her neck when his fingers fell to the bottom of her tank top and started pulling it up, peeling it off her wet skin. His teeth scraped over her collar bones before he lifted his head and found her eyes again. As the bunched up fabric met under her arms, she stretched them above her head and let him strip her shirt off. It got caught on the twisted bun settled low on her head and, as he pulled it free, rain water was squeezed from her hair, slipping down her back, making her shiver involuntarily. He dropped her shirt to the floor and she heard the plop of wet fabric. His fingers followed the length of her arms back down to her body, sliding around to her back and tracing her shoulder blades before they found the middle of her bra. Her hands fell back to his shoulders as he released the clasp and very slowly drew the straps down her arms. As it joined the rest of the clothing on the floor, she watched him; the muscle ticking in his jaw, the play of strength as his chest expanded with each inhale, the darkening of his eyes that sent a surge of pride through her.

His hands found the backs of her shoulders and held her steady as he ducked his head down, kissing a path down between the valley of her breasts, nuzzling the curve of each. He turned his head and rasped his whiskered cheek against her, making her bite her lip, her hips twisting. He kissed down, under her left breast, suckling kisses along the curve until he reached the top and nipped lightly until he found the center and sucked the pebbled pink nipple between his lips. Her back arched as she fell back into the comfort of his hands, holding her up as she pressed closer to his mouth, letting out a breathy sigh at the way his whiskers tickled the sensitive skin beneath them.

After a few minutes, he traded to the other side, giving it the same treatment, and she buried her fingers in his hair, scratching her nails down his neck and holding him close, enjoying the way he edged his teeth around her nipple and plucked it, his tongue swirling, teasing, and soothing all at once. An aroused flush covered her chest and warmed her cheeks. Oliver kissed his way up to her neck once more, burying his face there as he pulled her hips against him, letting her feel how it was affecting him. She swallowed tightly and rocked her hips, grinding against him. He nipped at her neck, a rumble leaving his chest, and slid his hands up and down her back, leaving a trail of heat behind with each stroke.

When his hands found the button and zipper on her jeans, she couldn't even feel embarrassed by her, "Yes!" He chuckled lightly and surprised her when he bent down in front of her. She leaned forward a little, peering down at him. He lifted one leg by her calf and slipped her flat off before repeating with the other leg. One at a time, he put her foot on his thigh, his palm tucked under the heel, and massaged her foot, rubbing his thumb and knuckle into the arch. Her toes stretched and spread apart at the feeling. It felt good, it felt… it felt like being taken care of, and she realized just how much he really meant he wanted to try with her. As much as tonight was going to end with much-deserved sex, it was about more than that. It was about loving each other and finally expressing everything that had been pent up between them for far too long.

When he was finished with her feet, he dragged his hands up the back of her legs, kneading her calves and stroking her thighs. When his fingers finally curled around the waist of her jeans, his knuckles rubbing her hips, she let out a shaky breath, her chin tucked against her chest as she watched him. He kissed down her stomach from her navel, all the while tugging her jeans down a little bit at a time. He licked down her hip bones, scraping his teeth over them, and pulled her jeans down to her thighs. His mouth moved lower, kissing across the front of her underwear, and he dragged her jeans to her ankles. She lifted one foot and then the other and he tossed her jeans away before his hands slid up the back of her thighs and cupped her bottom, pulling her in close as he tugged her underwear down by his teeth. His fingers kneaded her ass before they gripped either side of her thong and dragged it down her legs. She didn't know how wet she was until she felt the fabric of her underwear cling to her.

Oliver was quick to taste her. His tongue licked between her slit and curled up. Taking one of her knees, he pulled it over his shoulder and spread her apart. Felicity could count on one hand how many times she'd had a guy go down on her and, for the most part, it had fallen short of expectation. There had only been one particular experience in college that made her see stars. This was so much better. Oliver knew what to do with his tongue, and his fingers, and he made sure she didn't just see stars, she saw a supernova. He stimulated every inch of her until she was begging him for release, and then he'd pull back and slide his hands up to knead her breasts, tweaking and rubbing her nipples while she rocked herself against his wet chin, rubbing her sensitive folds against his stubble, desperate for more contact. And just to tease her, he'd let his tongue flick her clit, but he wouldn't let her come. When she tried to slide her own fingers down, he let her dip them inside herself and then he licked them clean and brought her hands up to play with her breasts.

Until finally, he stood, his arm banding around her thighs and lifting her up as he carried her into her bedroom. He laid her back on her bed and dropped his mouth to her pussy, burying it once more, and this time not letting up until she finally felt it all consume her. She was pretty sure she screamed. Squirming on the bed, gripping the blanket beneath her, her hips pressed up tight against his face, his tongue and fingers buried inside her, rubbing and curling, she felt his tongue writing letters and numbers and his name against her spread open folds, and it made tiny bursts go off inside her just as her orgasm was beginning to ebb away.

When she finally sank back to the bed, her thighs were shaking and aftershocks were still running through her. Her eyes were closed and an arm fell over her face as she tried to catch her breath. She could feel him kissing her thighs, rubbing his hands up and down the backs of each, massaging away the tension that had gripped the muscles there. She moved her arm so she could see him, her Oliver, his lips smoothing over her bare thigh, his chin and lips still wet with her. When he sought out her eyes, her breath caught. There was something infinitely intimate about this, and it had nothing to do with a lack of clothes or oral sex. It was about vulnerability and trust.

He climbed up her body, dropping kisses on her hips and breasts and shoulders before he found her lips again. At some point, he'd lost his jeans, and she wasn't complaining. Her legs wrapped around his waist and drew him closer, feeling the weight of his cock pressed to her slit. He was in no hurry. He reached under her to release her hair from her elastic and spread out the wet curls. They threaded through his fingers as he cradled her head and kneaded down her neck, searching out those knots and kinks. All the while, he kissed her, sipping at her lips, his tongue dipping inside. Her arms wrapped around him, hands sliding up and down, fingers stroking over the burn scars on his lower back before sliding up to dip in the play of muscles that moved each time his arms stretched. She could feel his stomach against hers, rubbing with each inhale, but he kept his weight up and off her. As his hands delved lower to rub her shoulders, he dropped his mouth down to her chest and kissed down her sides, rubbing his cheeks against her ribs, making her laugh and squirm under him. He dragged his mouth down her stomach and then back up before he rested his chin on her chest and stared at her a long moment.

"How's the wine?" he asked.

She let out a breathless laugh. "Falling behind."

He grinned then, a low chuckle leaving him.

Sliding her hand up to his face, she traced the curve of his ear. "Am I going to get a chance to reciprocate, or are you just going hog all the fun?"

"This is fun for me," he said, turning his chin down to nip the top of her soft breast.

She wrapped a leg around the curve of his hip and pressed up, her hand finding his shoulder to do the same. He took her cue and turned over onto his back, letting her climb into his lap. Taking his hands, she pressed them up above his head and stretched over him. She kissed from the inside of one elbow down to his bicep, licking the hills of muscle collected there before she dragged her mouth over his shoulder and down into the crook of his neck. Oliver was firm everywhere, and she let her lips and teeth tease every inch, from the length of his neck, down his chest, to the hollows of his hips, leading to his cock. She traced the corners of his Bratva tattoo and the tail-like scars that arched down from it with her tongue. She let her thumb follow the angry scar on his left bicep and rubbed her nose against the buckshot pattern on the right side of his chest. Much like he'd spent time teasing her nipples, she did the same for him, her tongue pressed flat and her teeth grazing all around them. He reached for her, his fingers burying in her hair, loose and falling to trail against his stomach.

She could feel his cock pressed up against her slit, heavy and thick and very, very ready. She arched her hips down and then turned them up, sliding herself along the length of him, again and again. He twitched against her, his hand tightening in her hair, and she could feel his stomach clench up against her breasts every time she sunk down, every inch of her pressed to him. She teased him like that for a while, enjoying the throbbing in her clit, the build-up she felt inside her, eager for more, to feel all of him.

" _Felicity_ ," he said, in that way of his that said so much without really saying anything at all.

She reached across him to her bedside table and came up triumphant with a condom. She squeezed and stroked him, her thumb rubbing over the crown of his cock as she sat back on his thighs, watching him. His skin was flushed, much like it was after a particularly vigorous go on the salmon ladder, and his breathing was heavy, his eyes dark, and that feral promise crossing over the plains of his face once more. She slid the condom on and moved forward, dipping her head to kiss him. His hands found her sides, fingers stretched and squeezing as he brought her hips back. She reached down between them and directed him inside her, sinking down slowly, letting him in an inch at a time. Her mouth dropped open and her brow furrowed as he stretched her open.

" _Fuck_ ," he cursed, his hands falling to her thighs and gripping hard.

When she was finally seated on him, she put her hands on his stomach and rocked herself in circles. A stuttering breath left her and she bit her lip on a moan.

His hands slid up, thumbs rubbing her hip bones, before he started moving her, bringing her forward and off him before he brought her down hard. She cried out, her nails scraping at his stomach. His fingers curled around her thighs, tucked under her ass, and lifted her up, setting a pace that had her forgetting to breathe. It felt so good she didn't want it to stop. Just right there, in that haze right before she came, feeling him hit every spot, knocking the breath right out of her. In an effort to prolong it, she leaned forward, bracing her hands on either side of his head as she twisted and rocked her hips, sliding off of him almost completely before she took him back inside as deep as he could go, squeezing and clenching around his length. His hands spread out over her back, and she opened her eyes to see him watching her, like he was memorizing every face she made, ever noise that left her, filing it away so he'd never forget.

And then he brought one of his hands up and licked his fingers before he slid them down between them and started rubbing and flicking and teasing her clit. Her back arched down and her head was thrown back as she came, sweat dripping down her skin and her hair clinging to her cheeks and her neck. She was still rocking on him, still clenching around him, rock hard inside her.

Very slowly, and gentle like she'd rarely seen him before, he turned them over so they were on their sides. He was still inside her, but he didn't move for a while. He just brought her leg up high on his hip and traced the underside of her thigh with his fingers, skimming it over her butt and along the curve of her back, his palm dragging up her side, until he smoothed it across her shoulder blade and tickled the back of her neck. Over and over again, until her skin was tingly and her heart was light. She watched him, his eyes soft as he stared back at her. He leaned in, his forehead finding hers, and kissed her, tugging on her bottom lip with his teeth.

"Caught you," he said.

Her hand found his cheek, the tips of her fingers quietly tracing the arch. "What are you going to do with me?" she whispered.

He tipped his head up to kiss her nose. "Keep you... Love you… Save you…" He dragged his knuckles down her cheek. "I lied… I wasn't half in love with you. I was completely in love with you, and equally terrified of both having you and losing you."

"What changed your mind?" she wondered.

"You've stayed late every day for a week…" His brow furrowed. "You always stay and help and put yourself on the line, for this city and me and… and saving complete strangers because it's the right thing to do… I started this for revenge and to absolve my father and myself. You did it because you wanted to help Walter, because he was nice to you, and you stayed because you knew you could do more good…" He shook his head. "And I don't know what I'd do without you. I don't know who I'd be. But I don't think I'd like him. I wouldn't be better."

"You're a better man than you think you are."

"Maybe," he allowed. "But I know I'm a better man because of you. And I know if I have any chance of being happy in this life, it's going to be with you."

"You deserve love, Oliver. It doesn't have to be me. Although I'd like it to be. But don't think that I'm your only chance, because anybody would be lucky to love and be loved by you."

"Then you're lucky…" He tucked a springy curl behind her ear. "And I'm lucky." He kissed her forehead. "And we'll be lucky together."

He was kissing her neck when he started moving inside her again. They were wrapped together so tight she couldn't tell whose legs from whose. It was just a tangle of skin, hips moving just enough to send those shocks of pleasure through her. They made love exactly how they fell in love, slowly, passionately, and with all the consuming intensity that simmered beneath the surface. He pressed her back against the bed and sunk into her quicker and faster, her knees lifted up and pressed back, his teeth grazing down her chin. And then he found her hands, squeezing them tight as he pinned them to the bed above her head. Her legs wrapped around his waist, encouraging him as he chased the light right into the fire, triggering her own breathless climax.

He panted her name against her chest, where he laid his cheek as he came down. His fingers slowly unfurled from hers and she stroked her own down his arms, rubbing and kneading soothingly. It took him a few minutes before he had enough strength to climb off the bed and walk to the bathroom, throwing away the condom and cleaning himself off. When he was finished, she traded off in using the bathroom and, after brushing her teeth and putting her hair up into a half-way decent ponytail, joined him in her bed. He was under the covers, his arms crossed behind his head on the pillow, looking the picture of satisfaction, and somehow like he belonged there, in her bed, though it was the first she'd seen him in it. She didn't bother with her pajamas, climbing in beside him, equally exposed, and pressing snugly against his side, her head resting on his chest. He wrapped an arm around her, his thumb rubbing circles on her shoulder.

She wondered if he was right, that they were in love long before they ever said it or acknowledged it to be true. She wondered if she hadn't slipped off that precipice a long time ago. Maybe from that first, surprised smile he gave to her and her alone, or when she turned around to find him in the back of her car, entrusting his life in her hands, or one of the many times he'd swooped in and saved her, or maybe it was a thousand other moments, big and small. What she knew was that they were going to try, they were going to be happy, they were going to keep each other and love each other and save each other.

She fell asleep with his name a quiet sigh on her lips, and he answered with hers back. A million declarations in one word a piece. The loudest of them all being  _I love you (too)._

{ **end**.}


End file.
